


us and the world

by satsukimomoi



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Character Study, Declarations Of Love, Everyone Is Alive, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Light Angst, Minor Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth, Romance, hilda unlearning racism is the important and sexy part, the changes are minor and aren't the focus so you can ignore them if you want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-11
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-10-28 12:20:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,741
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20778461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/satsukimomoi/pseuds/satsukimomoi
Summary: “Don’t get me wrong, if there’s a way I can make your dream come true without sweating or bleeding, I’m all ears. But just between you and me, I’d be willing to put in alittlebit of effort to see such a peaceful world."Claude evaluates his resolve and his identity, and he realizes that he need not look too far to discover where he belongs. She has been beside him through it all.(Contains major spoilers for Verdant Wind)





	us and the world

**Author's Note:**

> i literally wrote this out of spite bc everyone seems to overlook hilda's ignorance and in her paired ending with claude she actively uses her influence to help dismantle fodlan's prejudices so i!! wanted to explore that more as a means of self-care  
i didn't think it would turn out to be my first fe3h fic or my first sexy fic BUT it is what it is so enjoy!

War never failed to leave a sickly taste of bloody iron and ash in the air. A quick cup of tea had _ somewhat _ soothed it, but Claude’s flabber was gasted to a degree so unprecedented that not even the familiar taste of Almyran pine needle blend on his lips could completely cure it. Fort Merceus was a ruin, reduced to a mere memory by javelins of light that had sliced through the sky like it was made of canvas— and with the fort, countless souls, loyal to both himself and Edelgard, now lay buried in a grave of strewn rubble. He wondered if it was easier for Edelgard, if, to her, this was merely another necessary sacrifice on the path that they had chosen to walk— but sacrifice would never be _ necessary _ to Claude. It couldn’t be. If fate had decided that the innocent had to die in order for his dreams to be reality, then he simply had to outsmart fate. Had to concoct some convoluted plan to traipse around evil and give it stomach poisoning before it could hurt anyone else— before it could hurt the ones he loved.

Staging a battle with the Empire as a diversion was knowingly risky, and while it had succeeded in drawing out the enemies who slithered in the dark (as Hubert had so _ colorfully _ put it), Claude silently cursed his failure to foresee the weight of the consequences— Fodlan’s leaders could only trudge through them and keep walking. He hoped that Byleth, at least, was now asleep. Throughout the journey back to Garreg Mach, her stoic features had been twisted with rage and guilt, only tempering back to their usual calm after she found herself lost in the furs of Dimitri’s cloak as he embraced her. She deserved that much comfort— to have a place like his arms where she knew she would always be safe. Would always belong.

_ Belong. _

Seeing the positives was the only way to keep walking. Seeing how after all this time, everyone finally had people they could rely on— even the outsiders. Claude had spent too many years looking for home, thinking that his destination lay on one side of Fodlan’s border or the other. Even now, he couldn’t exactly pinpoint _ when _ he realized that home was in Leonie scolding Ignatz for wasting even a _ single _ drop of paint, in Flayn and Lysithea dangling from Raphael’s bulky arm as he playfully swung them around like a sack of potatoes, in Lorenz’s well-meaning nattering about their duties and what it means to be a noble and _ blah blah blah _, in Marianne’s sweet, delicate whispers to every monastery bird— and in Hilda. Hilda, who complained about how sweaty she was on the battlefield, only to chase after Claude and swing Friekugel in a flurry at anything that might even put a scratch on him. Hilda, who held him in her strong little arms when the world scorned him and his blood. Hilda, who longed to be free while trapped by her own fear of letting the world down.

_ Does she know that she could never let _ me _ down? That I wouldn’t have made it this far without her? _

He thought to ask her sometimes, on nights when she flopped onto his bed in faux exhaustion after a week of advanced drills, knowing that he wouldn’t press her about her nightmares and would simply pull the covers up to her chin. He thought to ask her on their journey back to the monastery, when she had clung to his sleeve with tears pooling in her eyes and kept saying “_ We couldn’t save them.” _ The memory of her bright, sing-song voice choking on grief still felt like a dagger in his skin. And he thought to ask her now, as the town slept, as he peeled off his golden robes and ran a hand through his disheveled chestnut hair, as he longed for her to believe in herself the way he believed in her.

Claude forced a weighty sigh and leaned over to blow out the candle, stopping short at the sound of three hesitant knocks on the door. On the other side of it, there she was. Her hair was down and slightly mussed, spilling over her shoulders in gossamer waves of rose. The silk of her nightgown looked equally soft and far too fancy for sleeping— rich gold, green roses embroidered on the shoulders, with flowing sleeves that draped over the pillow she clutched in her arms. Were it not for the slightly sullen look in her eyes, he might have thought her some kind of holy vision… like Saint Cethleann’s sleepy pink cousin come to bless him.

“Did I wake you?” Hilda finally asked. 

He realized that he had spent a rather lengthy moment staring at her in complete silence. “Nah, I had some formation outlines to look over. Can’t sleep?”

“Kinda. It seems cozier in here. Can I come in?”

_ Hm. She usually just strolls right in and makes herself at home. _ He said nothing, simply smiling his easy smile and ushering her in. Her bare feet made a gentle _ pap pap pap _ as she plodded to the edge of the bed and sat, and she still held the pillow in her arms, her chin buried in it. He plopped down next to her and leaned back on his hands, studying the flecks of magenta in her eyes for some sort of clue as to what was going on in that head of hers. Those eyes that had admittedly been drawn to him, the same way his had been drawn to her— whether or not it was only out of curiosity, he couldn’t say for certain. “What’s going on with you?” his voice was barely above a whisper, decidedly lacking its usual animated tones and casual inflection. He wanted to know what troubled her, wanted to cut it down like she had cut down so many who had tried to hurt him. Well, maybe not _ cut it down _, but at least scare the living daylights out of it a little.

She perked up from her pillow shield and forced a smile that could only mellow into something somber as she spoke, “Nothing! Nothing, it’s just— I wanted to check on you, I guess.”

“Check on me? Why, have I been acting weird? Weirder than usual?”

She smiled for real this time. “_ Claude _ von _ Riegan? _ Acting weird? _ Preposterous _,” she feigned a gasp, and a hint of a giggle made the corners of her lips twitch. She looked utterly unreal. “But, no. I was just worried about you, after…”

His eyes darkened, but he smiled at her anyway. He couldn’t _ not _ smile at her. “Don’t be. As much as we’ve been trying to avoid bloodshed all these years, we won’t be able to save _ everyone _, at least not now— once the war is over, and Fodlan sees a new dawn, maybe we will be.”

Hilda turned to face him fully, setting the pillow aside and folding her legs in front of her. The candle’s flame lit something intense in her eyes and bathed the planes of her face in a glow that he thought could just be part of her skin. She was smiling back at him. “Dear old Claude, always having all the answers,” she hesitated for a moment. “Do you think we’ll be able to win? That you’ll see your dreams come true?”

“Hopefully _ we’ll _ see my dreams come true— all of us. Win or lose, I know we’ll live to see another day, and I’ll struggle all over again to make my vision a reality, if I have to.”

“That sounds like a _ lot _ of work,” she tried to say in her usual lackadaisical Hilda tone, but her voice was thick and her smile was heavy. 

“Maybe if I was doing it _ alone _, but I’ll be honest. The selfish part of me has always imagined that you’d still be by my side when it was all over. I’ve always been able to rely on you, so I just assumed I always would be,” Claude now faced her as well, his eyes wide and warm and shiny and completely locked onto her, as if to burn the memory into his mind of how breathtaking she looked in this moment.

“Rely on me?” she murmured, and a puff of air escaped her that sounded akin to a laugh. “Strange…”

“What is?”

“I thought I had done a pretty good job all these years of outrunning everyone’s high expectations. The idea of anyone finding me _ reliable _ is quite the surprise, wouldn’t you say?”

Claude ran another hand through his hair, his voice even and more serious than normal, but not lacking its musical cheer. “In a way, I guess you _ did _ outrun my expectations. When I first met you, you did rather well at convincing everyone that you were spoiled and lazy and ignorant and had nothing to offer except complaints and accessories—”

“Hey, you _ loved _ the bracelets I made for you!”

He smiled at her again, a radiant smile that even sparkled in the jade of his eyes and cut off a breath from her lungs. “I did. And here we are, over half a decade later, and I’ve seen you constantly running to the rear lines to make sure Lysithea isn’t overexerting herself and then running back to the front just to tell Marianne that she’s doing a great job. You didn’t even _ hesitate _ to charge headfirst at two armies full of people you _ knew _, just because you wanted to do your best for me. All these years, you’ve been loyal… to someone like me.”

Now he had done it.

“Someone like you?”

No going back now. “To an Almyran.”

To his surprise, not a single muscle moved in her serene, delicate face. Her gaze fell to her hands, folded in her lap, before she carefully extended one of them to rest over the back of his palm. It was so small compared to his, so outwardly fragile, yet so sturdy, so powerful. The remnants of a callous lingered on her thumb that she had yet to scrub off, but her skin was impossibly soft and still pink from her bath that evening. Claude couldn’t be faulted for interlacing his fingers with hers, for wanting to feel as much of her warmth as he could.

“I’m glad you felt ready to tell me,” she finally said.

“You don’t sound particularly surprised. How… how did you know?”

“I didn’t,” Hilda confessed. “I just had a feeling. Call it a beautiful woman’s intuition.”

She spoke in jest, playfully flipping a wave of flowing hair over her shoulder, but he warmed at the statement anyway. Who could deny that she was beautiful? “Well, how long has this _ beautiful _ woman,” _ so, so beautiful, _ “had a feeling?”

“Who knows? I told you before that my eyes just naturally followed you. I guess it was inevitable that I’d see something _ beyond _ what the world saw— I just didn’t want to press you on it. As curious as I was, and _ still _ am, about you, I can’t put you in danger like that,” she spoke with a raw honesty that jarred him, made him feel like he was interrupting a private monologue that wasn’t meant to be heard. “I can never understand what you’ve been through or the things you’ve had to do to survive, but I imagine that assuming we’d all _ turn _ on you is one of them. I can’t blame you for expecting that I wouldn’t stay by your side.”

“No, I shouldn’t have assumed anything, _ especially _ about you,” he shook his head and gave her hand a squeeze. “I can’t count how many people have made assumptions about me, as if dishonesty just _ runs _ in my blood. How can I change that if I assume that distrust runs in yours?”

“Claude, those two things aren’t the same,” she was on her feet now, standing directly in his space and holding both of his hands firmly as she looked down at him. “You made assumptions about the people of Fodlan to _ protect _ yourself. The people of Fodlan made assumptions about you because we’ve spent _ goddess _ knows how many years in this stupid _ cage _ we built for ourselves, and we can’t seem to just be _ free _ of it.”

Her voice boiled with passion and pent up frustration now, no longer the gloomy almost-whisper it had been before, and her eyes burned with something he couldn’t completely identify, but it was warm and full and made her shine in the candle’s light. This was his Hilda, fierce and determined beneath the nonchalance and disinterest that she wore like embroidered silk nightgowns.

“Is that your dream?” Claude asked. “To be free?”

She loosened her grip on his hands, but kept her fingers twined with his, as if he might run away if she let him go. “It was for a long time, ever since I was a kid trying to convince my brother that I had just gotten a tiny scrape and didn’t need to wear _ knee pads _ everywhere,” they both laughed a little but hushed into silence when Hilda brought their still locked hands to her chest. “Things are different now, though. It’s not enough for me to just be free.”

Claude ran his thumb over the back of her hand and slowly rose to his feet from the edge of the bed, towering over her once more. Had he ever been this close to her before? He wondered as he asked, “So, what’s your dream now?”

“To make yours come true,” her eyes found his again, sugary rose mingling with leafy green, and air caught in his throat. “I’ve learned so much since I’ve been with you. I’ve met so many incredible people and started to pop that ignorant _ bubble _ I was in. I’ve caught little glimpses of the world— and now I want to see more of it. I want to _ do _ more _ for _ it.”

“Hilda—” his voice was gone. Had the candle just sucked up all the air in the room? Was there a fire somewhere that was making it unbearably warm?

“After this war is over, I want to see a world where _ everyone _ can be free and can afford to just do their own thing without being _ afraid _ ,” she hesitated for a moment, releasing a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “I have all this power, I know I do— and I know that there are people who _ need _ me to use it. It just… feels wrong to know all that and choose to do nothing.”

The air was hot and stifling, but he took a breath anyway and smiled at her once more, the smooth, velvety Claude smile that always cheered her up, complete with a wink. “That sounds like a _ lot _ of work,” he pretended to whine, and he separated his hands from hers only to place them on the small of her back, pulling her just a hair closer to him.

Finally, the tension that had been gripping her every muscle melted into melodic, sunny laughter, and Hilda fell into his embrace, her free hands finding their way atop his chest as she threw her head back and laughed the unrefined, snorty laugh that only Claude was allowed to hear. She was still smiling even when she stopped, and the air left him again.

“_ Don’t _ get me wrong, if there’s a way I can make your dream come true _ without _ sweating or bleeding, I’m _ all _ ears. But just between you and me, I’d be willing to put in a _ little _ bit of effort to see such a peaceful world— especially if it meant that you would be safe. And happy.”

“Hilda Valentine Goneril, it sounds as though you’re confessing your love for me!”

“I am,” she replied almost immediately. 

His instinctive urge to tease her completely dissolved with the overt sincerity that she faced him with. Here he had been, trying to figure out when and how to tell her that she was irreplaceable, and, as with so many things, she had cleared the way for him. She loved him, she _ loved _ him, and she was here in his arms, telling him that she wanted to change the world with him, and he believed her. 

“Heh, guess you beat me to the punch, then,” he finally managed to say. Sothis smite him if he chose this moment to trip over his words.

She raised a hand to cup his cheek, the dark hairs that framed his outer jaw tickling her fingertips. She was even closer now and, though unperfumed, smelled faintly of honey and cinnamon. Her lips still had a slight shine from the peach currant balm she loved and looked impossibly pink, impossibly soft. He couldn’t help but fix his eyes on them and wonder how they _ really _ felt. 

“If that’s the case, then I’d like to ask you something.”

“Anything,” he whispered against the edge of her palm as he closed his eyes. “Unless it involves spiking Lorenz’s champagne again, because I am _ not _ in the mood for another earful.”

She giggled again, that flowery giggle that he was addicted to. “As _ priceless _ as that was, don’t worry. I was just wondering about… that offer you made to me before. The one about meeting your family.”

A spark of fear made his stomach lurch, and his eyes snapped open. “Yeah… Almyra’s a pretty tough trip. Having second thoughts?” he tried to ask as coolly as possible, so as not to divulge how often he had dreamed of such a journey. But he was so close to her now, _ holding _ her so close, and he didn’t have the heart to hide anything from her anymore. He loved her too much to keep more secrets.

“Of _ course _ not— in fact, the closer we get to ending this war, the more I look _ forward _ to going,” she soothed, and she brought her free hand to the curve of his jaw, running her thumb along his pulse. “I was just thinking that… maybe we could extend the trip a little.”

“Oh, yeah?” he asked, in near disbelief.

“I mean, meeting you taught me _ so _ much about the world. It’s so beautiful and so big, and life is so _ short. _ I want to see as much as I can with the time that I have— and I want to see it with you. So… would you go with me?”

Life _ was _ short. _ Too damn short _ . And every moment spent with her had taught him how to live freely. He wasn’t going to waste another second _ waiting _ for an opportunity to cherish her the way he wanted— not when he had the present. Not when he had her here now, looking up at him with glistening eyes and rosy cheeks, holding his face like he was something sacred. He leaned into her touch until his forehead was pressed to hers, tightening his grip on her waist and smiling against her hands. She was unbearably close now, yet still not close enough.

“You’ve stayed by my side through everything. It’s only fair to return the favor, don’t you think?”

“Claude—” she smiled a beaming smile that lit up the room better than every candle in the cathedral, and it cut the last thread that had been holding him together.

“Would it also be fair to ask permission to kiss you?” he winked at her again, ever the easy, deliciously charming man with the golden smile and the golden heart that could only belong to her.

Hilda pulled him to her with an almost crushing force, as if years of pent-up affection and want had bubbled over and spilled onto his lips. Claude smiled against her, no longer having to imagine how soft her lips were or how sweet her peach currant balm tasted on them. He no longer had to imagine how soft her hair was, either. It slipped between his fingers like water as he curled a hand behind her neck. Even now, he wanted her closer. His arm still circled around her waist, he held her tighter to his chest and opened his eyes briefly to catch a glimpse of her, warm and pink and perfect. 

Kisses were rather complex, and just one wasn’t enough to appreciate every aspect of them— even for someone like Claude, who never let anything escape his notice. Each time they separated and came together again, there was something new to love about kissing her— the way her lashes fell like a curtain when she closed her eyes, the way she angled her neck against his hand and pushed into his lips like she had been starved of them, the way her exhales tickled his cheek when she stopped for air. It was overwhelming and unreal and fanned a pooling heat in his belly.

Pulling away from her was damn near impossible, but too many words still needed to be spoken. “I wouldn’t have the chance to make my dreams a reality without you. Having you by my side is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

Hilda traced a finger across his reddened lip before placing another lingering kiss to it. “You said the same thing about the vegetable pasta that Dedue made for your birthday feast.”

“No, Hilda, listen,” it was his turn to take her face in his hands, to lock an intense gaze on her like the entire world existed in her eyes. “I need you to know that you don’t have to be afraid of letting me down. Ever. Maybe I can’t take the fear away _ completely _ , but… just knowing that you’re here is enough for me to believe in you. When I expect things of you, it’s because I _ know _ that I can count on you— it’s because I _ love _ you.”

She turned to press a kiss to his palm before easing into him and resting her cheek against his thundering heartbeat. His thick, strong arms wrapped snugly around her, aching to shield her from her fears the way she had shielded him from arrows and tomahawks and rushing battalions time and time again. They allowed themselves a moment to simply stand and sway, drinking in each other’s warmth and feeling as safe as one could possibly feel in the middle of a war against superhuman shapeshifters. 

“I believe in you, too,” she whispered against his chest. “I believe in your dream— that’s why I want to help you see it through. Can I?”

She looked up at him again with those eyes, so bright and hopeful, and every recess of his mind buzzed with the urge to kiss her senseless. 

“You already are.”

And without a moment’s hesitation, she had captured his lips again, weaving her arms around the back of his neck. The fabric of her gown was smooth and luxurious, yet it felt like gravel compared to the heated softness of her skin. He didn’t want to feel anything but _ her _ anymore— didn’t want anything keeping him from being as close to her as humanly possible. 

But, he also didn’t want anything that _ she _ didn’t want. His lips felt cold after separating from hers, but he stopped for a moment anyway to simply look at her— to study every angle of her face and marvel at it. Finally, he asked, “Can I…” he swallowed thickly. “Can we…?” 

“Do you want to?” she asked silkily, lips swelling and eyes half-lidded.

His focus was intense now, boring into the depths of her irises with both adoration and… something else. “Only if you do. And if you want to sleep, I can do that, too.”

She peppered him with one, two, three more kisses, holding onto the last before smiling against him. “Weird… suddenly I feel rather awake.”

“Is… is that a yes?”

“Yes,” she laughed onto his lips and kissed him again. “Yes, yes, yes,” and again, and again, and again.

Before Claude could make any excuses to stall, he swiftly scooped her up in a celebratory twirl, snickering against her mouth when she managed to yelp and giggle at the same time. She practically melted into the sheets when he laid her gently onto the bed, which, _ for once _, wasn’t littered with books and formation plans and scrapped strategy outlines. He made a mental note to thank Lorenz later for pestering him about “cleanliness being a noble’s duty.” But for now, he couldn’t see or hear or feel anything except Hilda— couldn’t want anything except Hilda and her peachy lips and intoxicating laugh and fresh skin.

She lay flushed beneath him, her hair fanned across the pillows as she reached up to caress his cheek. He almost didn’t know how to process the way she looked at him— like he _ belonged _ here with her, like he deserved to see her vulnerable and undone. He could only sink into another kiss and pour as much reassurance and comfort and love into it as possible. Had he been a pious man, he might have thanked the Goddess for bringing Hilda here and allowing him to hold her and love her and _ want _ her the way he did. But after all that had been said, he knew deep down that they were both here because they had _ chosen _ to be here. He had chosen to trust Hilda and believe in her, and she had chosen to stay by his side. She had chosen to come to his room and hold him and kiss him and devote herself to his vision of peace. Claude couldn’t give that satisfaction to a goddess that he didn’t know, not when he knew Hilda.

“If you change your mind, just tell me stop, okay?” he mumbled against her cheek.

“Oh, Claude, _ look _ at you. How could I _ possibly _ change my mind?” 

He thought he looked an absolute _ mess. _ His hair was falling in too many different directions, he had forgotten to trim back his sideburns that afternoon, and staying up so late had probably created deep hollows under his eyes. And she was looking at him like she was seeing the sun peek over the horizon for the first time. “I’m just making sure! I want you to be happy.”

“_ You _ make me happy.”

The utter adoration in her voice was all it took to make him press her into the pillows and trail desperate kisses along her jaw and on her cheeks and her nose and back to her lips. She caged her legs around his hips and pulled him closer, fumbling with the buttons of his white blouse out of instinct and pure need. She took her time smoothing it over his shoulders, enjoyed the feel of his rich bronze skin beneath her hands. He would’ve scolded himself for his impatience as he threw the forgotten shirt to the side and hurriedly returned to the safety of her mouth, but he craved her warmth too much, and life was too short.

He found the spot where her neck met her shoulder, hidden beneath the flowery hem of her nightgown, and latched onto her skin— smiled onto it when she buried her fingers in his thick chocolate hair. Descending the line of her gown with his lips, he ran his hands tenderly along her sides and stopped at her waist, where a red ribbon held the fabric together. He looked back up to meet her eyes again and, when she nodded impatiently, tugged at the ribbon until it unfurled.

He pushed the silk aside, exposing her tightly muscled torso to waves of loving kisses and tender touches. Above her navel, up to her sternum, over the swell of her breast, along her collarbone— until she couldn’t wait any longer to yank him back up to her sweetly grinning mouth.

“I love you,” she whispered, and each kiss felt like she was speaking a prayer onto his lips. Like she was promising all over again to stay with him and make sure that he saw a world that valued him as much as she did. “Wherever we go, we go together.”

He tilted his head back to look at her again. To enjoy the sight of her, brush a strand of hair from her cheek— and she saw a smile that was different from the ones the world saw. The ones that stopped short of his eyes and veiled all of the secrets and ambitions that lay simmering beneath his surface. This smile was so sincere and so _ pure _ and so open to her— one that trusted her with his life and his deepest thoughts. 

Here, in each other’s arms, they were finally free. He was free to toss her expensive silk aside like a rag and nip at her neck with his teeth. She was free to dig her nails into his back and bathe in the heat of his sunkissed skin. They were free to be unguarded and unafraid of the chaos that tried to swallow the world. And they were free to lay themselves bare to each other, more and more with each discarded garment and whispered confession, knowing that they would still be safe— still be loved.

Claude had long prided himself on his constant alertness— his ability to be aware of all things at all times. It had kept him alive, after all. Yet, he couldn’t help but enjoy how it felt to focus only on one extraordinary thing— to allow his senses to melt and blur into each other. In this moment, he only knew Hilda— he only felt the heat of her hands, only tasted the sweetness of her lips, only smelled the honey on her skin. He only heard her gasps and cries when he wandered lower and lower to touch her and claim her and kiss her where she ached for him the most. He only saw Hilda and her beautiful, sparkling eyes that had read him like a book— eyes that now burned for him as she rolled them both over and pinned his hands above his head.

Her strength had never been a surprise to him. Even her most convincing gripes about exerting herself hadn’t been enough to hide her warrior’s grace or the power threaded into her well-defined muscles. And yet, the palpable heat that her strong fingers sunk into his chest and sides and abdomen still sent rivers of adrenaline rushing through him. She was so desperate now, so jarringly passionate compared to the comically lax Hilda he saw in daylight, and he allowed a certain pride to wash over him at the realization that this sight, these feelings, these touches— were only for him. Only he could see her _ enjoy _ having unruly hair and sweaty skin for once. Only he could hear her hum against his lips as she moved against him temptingly. And only _ she _ could unravel him the way she did, with her adoring eyes and her searing touch closing around him.

“Tell me to stop if there’s any pain,” he soothed evenly through the fog of desire that enveloped them. She looked so blissful atop him, weaving their fingers together as they rest on her hips, flush against his. The idea of hurting her, even without trying, was unbearable.

“Claude,” she teased, ever so gently. “I don’t think you’re even _ capable _ of hurting me.”

“Hey, _ you’re _ the self-proclaimed _ delicate flower _ here.”

“True, but I will say,” her voice lowered to a husky whisper against the shell of his ear, “actually being _ treated _ like one for once is surprisingly nice,“ and she kissed him long and slow as they became one, wrapping herself around him like an armor and making his every muscle melt with affection. “Thank you.”

There was no pain— only the depth of their desire and their sweet togetherness that made her cling to him like he was the only air she wanted to breathe. There were only euphoric sighs muffled by kiss after kiss and the steady rhythm that they moved in together. And the world around them faded into shades of gold and rose, with lush green plains and white mountaintops. Peaks that they could climb together for the rest of their days.

This peak was no different, reached together in a burst of tenderness and passion, and descended together as they softened into a tangle of limbs and steadying heartbeats. 

When she returned to the sheets, clean and relieved, she nestled herself to fit perfectly against his side, as if the crook of his neck had been forged specifically for her— as if his arm had been made for the sole purpose of wrapping around the curve of her waist. A few stray threads of hair, damp with sweat, were stuck to his cheek, and she lovingly brushed them aside to place her lips on the skin there.

“Claude.”

“Hm?”

“Thanks. For trusting me with so much of yourself. I won’t let you down.”

“You never have,” he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. 

Her eyelids fluttered shut as he pressed his forehead to hers, and though her voice was somewhat spent, her laugh still sounded just as musical to him as ever. “I have a _ rather _ tough time believing that.”

“Okay, _ maybe _ I was a little let down when you faked a sprained ankle and made me spend an entire afternoon cleaning the stables with _ Ferdinand _, but I was trying to be romantic.”

“Mm, can’t say I regret that one too much. Forgive me anyway?” 

“Just this once,” he conceded, planting a quick kiss to her lips before settling on his back.

Her cheek found its place against his chest, and in the midst of tracing patterns across his skin with a feather light touch, she asked, “Can you tell me another story?”

“What kind?”

“Any kind, _ other _ than the one about the white camel. I’m not in the mood to cry.”

He closed his eyes and sighed into her touch, pondering how he would stay awake through an entire _ story _ when he felt so relaxed against her skin. “Well, I know one about a rather interesting young lady. She was talented, clever, _ devastatingly _ beautiful—“

“Oh, I _ bet. _”

“And she went on an _ incredible _ journey to make the world a better place…” 

Claude and Hilda were fast asleep before the story was finished, but that didn’t matter, as it was still being written.

**Author's Note:**

> hoe but make it fashion, angst but make it fluffy, sex but make it as tender as possible, confessions of love but make them about ending racism together!! also not me using fic to further my "vaginal sex should not hurt and if you are a recipient always pee afterwards" agenda because we're here to enjoy romance and safe intimacy :^)  
i'd really appreciate any feedback or thoughts, i love reading comments! but if u even read it thank u so much


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